


Hidden Things

by fardareismai2



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Other, Revenge, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-15
Updated: 2009-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai2/pseuds/fardareismai2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one off inspired by certain events in Bonds. It is an Eric POV fic about vengeance and the dark places we keep to ourselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Things

 

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

* * *

_A/N: This was partially inspired by my desire to return Eric's balls to him after reading too many fics that emasculated him. I like my Viking bad boy, bad, not hanging out with Oprah and crying. Malanna, thanks again. I know you had a hard time with this one, but thanks for putting up with it, and me._

_I do not own any of the characters in the Sookieverse, Charlaine Harris does. I just like to play in her sandbox sometimes.  
_

This is the part of me I always wanted to hide from her. I wish I could blame it entirely on being a vampire, but the truth is, becoming a vampire merely exaggerates who you already are. If you were a cruel person, you become be a cruel vampire. If you were a good person, well, at the very least you do not tend to toy with your food. Perhaps it will change. Perhaps, now that we are in the open, now that there are willing donors, and synthetic blood, now that we no longer need to hunt, those good people who are turned will become truly good vampires. I do not know.

So which am I? Good or cruel? I like to think that I am a good man, however, I know there is a streak of cruelty in me. It does not emerge very often and then, only when I am exceedingly angry, and only against an enemy, but it is still there. It was there when I was human, and it became something  _more_  when I was turned.

It feeds my vengeance.

I watch dispassionately as the vampire before me pleads and begs. He is more than half-starved and, he is beginning to lose his mind. I have seen it before. I know the signs. I watch as he attempts to reach out his hands to me, imploring, only to trigger a shower of silver dust that coats his naked body. I smile as I see the sizzling effects. He howls in pain, then renews his pleas. His broken sobs, however, fall on deaf ears. My desire for vengeance is not sated.

A millennium upon this earth has taught me many, many things. I have learned of ways to give and receive pleasure that would make even the gods weep. Things that I fully intend to introduce her to - when she is ready. She is nearly there, but some of the restrictions and mores of her upbringing hold her back. Still, she has explored things that I would never believe possible a few years ago. If you had told her the night he brought her to Fangtasia for the first time that, in a few years, she would be bonded to the two of us and living in a permanent threesome, she would have laughed. From virgin, to temptress, to mistress of our hearts in a such a short span of time. Oh, she will still be so much more.

Those thousand years have also taught me many, many ways to give pain and to punish. I listen to the news reports, how the U.S. government struggles with ideas such as water boarding and I feel like laughing at their methods. They know nothing. They are amateurs.

I hold up the bottles of True Blood and watch as he falls silent. His fangs run out and he licks his cracked lips. His eyes are now feverish, desperate, but there is still hope in them. He knows what to do if he wants the blood. Three years and he has been trained well.

I slowly lift the cover from the tray of implements and allow him to see what it contains. It is different every time . . . well, almost every time. I say nothing. His imagination leads to more terror than any explanations ever could. By now, he knows the depths of my . . . creativity.

I come here every few months, spend several hours with him, and let my inner beast roam free. When I leave, I do not think of him.

I have no doubt, however, that Jonathon thinks of me. I have become the center of his universe. I am his god, his devil, the instrument of his deliverance.

The first time I came to him, he was arrogant and enraged. Despite knowing that Robert declared his life forfeit, he believed his maker would save him, would avenge him.

The second time, he was apologetic. He groveled for forgiveness. He begged, he pleaded, but he still refused my orders and demands. By the fourth time, he hardly hesitated to comply with them.

His hesitation today peaks my interest. Clearly there is still a spark there. Apparently I have more work to do. Good. One day I may tire of this, but my vengeance and my beast are not yet sated. One day I may grant him the mercy he begs for and give him final death. Today, however, I am not done playing.

I watch his agony, enjoying every moment. For what he did to her, he cannot suffer enough. When his blood spurts, I feel my fangs run down and the blood lust begin. I turn it aside. I force it down lower. I cannot let her feel it or, she will want to know why. I control it, for now, but it will have to be set loose later.

Later, she may wonder what came over me tonight. She will not mind, however, as her pleasure will be immeasurable. Bill will understand, but he will not say a word. In fact, through the bond it will spur him on as well. Oh what a sight we will be. Perhaps I will teach them something new tonight. I feel myself harden as my thoughts wander, and snap myself back to the here and now.

As Jonathon's howls finally subside to exhausted whimpers, I come to him. I grab his hair and pull his head back. He opens his mouth expectantly. Slowly I pour the blood down his throat.

He thanks me over and over. You see anyone, even a vampire, can be broken.

I double check the silver bindings chaining him to the wall. They are secure. I turn off the light and shut the door behind me, leaving him in the dark, with the smell of his blood all around him.

I know that Pam will clean it later. She also sees to it that he is fed occasionally. Otherwise, his insanity would come too quickly. I want him to know what is happening to him.

I go upstairs, and as I open the soundproof door at the top, I can hear the thumping bass of the music playing over Fangtasia's sound system. I take a shower and change clothes, throwing what I was wearing into the bin outside, then climb into my car. I make like a bullet to our house in Bon Temps. My cock is straining against my pants as I get closer. I know she can feel me. When I arrive she is at the door, her face flushed with anticipation.

I pull her to me roughly, my mouth devouring hers. After a moment, I break it off and look at Bill. He too is ready, his fangs out, his erection obvious. He nods slightly, acknowledging. Hours later, I am finally spent. Sookie is asleep between us, exhausted. I worked her hard, and she enjoyed every minute of it. I think I may have underestimated her willingness to throw those old morals away. It is something to think about. I look over at Bill, but he is in what Sookie likes to call "down time."

I love sharing my life with Sookie. I even enjoy Bill's part in it now. It is an unusual nest, but then again we are not usual people, even for vampires. Sometimes I wonder if Bill would like to join me. I know he has no qualms about Jonathon suffering, but knowing and seeing are two different things. At other times, I have no desire to share this with anyone. It is mine and mine alone. My hidden thing.


End file.
